Walter Williams - Deep State

“IBM Model M,” he said. “Nineteen-eighties technology. The keys use a special patented buckling-spring design. The whole thing is solid steel- nothing like the cheap plastic keyboards you see now.” He hefted the keyboard, demonstrating how heavy it was. “Built to last for millennia!” he said cheerfully. “In the event of nuclear annihilation, this keyboard will be the only surviving evidence of human achievement.”

“That’s a Greek keyboard,” Dagmar pointed out.

“I’ll convert it to English.” Richard put the keyboard back in the shopping bag. “Now I’ve got to find a PS/2 to USB converter; otherwise it’s just a nonfunctional antique.”

“That keyboard might draw more power than your USB connection gives,” Helmuth said.

“I’ll work something out.” Richard’s smile was brilliant.

Dagmar’s phone began to sing Thelonious Monk. The display didn’t show the number calling her, and she assumed it was the ops center.

“This is Dagmar,” she said.

“The Internet is back,” Lloyd said.

She straightened in her seat. “We’ve got Internet!” she said, and saw the others react.

“Has the Internet come back in Ankara as well?” Dagmar asked.

“Yes,” Lloyd said. “And we-”

“Is Rafet all right?” Dagmar asked.

“Yes. He’s got the drones over Ankara trying to find out what’s happening.”

Dagmar formed a triumphant fist with her free hand.

“Right, then,” she said.

“Dagmar,” said Lloyd. “We have the Internet now-but you’re in trouble. You need to look at the English online edition of the Turkish Daily Gazette.”

Alarms began to throb in Dagmar’s skull.

“What is this about?” she asked.

Lloyd’s voice was crisp and businesslike.

“You’ve been outed,” he said. “Just read the article; then get back here. You and Lincoln need to get together.”

ROCK STAR DUPES DEMONSTRATORS

DISSENT ORGANIZED TO PROMOTE POP ALBUM

ISTANBUL, 0621. Sources report to the Daily Gazette that recent anti-government demonstrations inside Turkey have been orchestrated by a U.S.-based multimedia firm operating at the behest of English pop star Ian Attila Gordon, whose album Ararat has just been released.

Sources say that Gordon, who played James Bond in the recent film Stunrunner, filmed in Turkey, engaged Hollywood-based Great Big Idea to promote his album by creating popular enthusiasm in Turkey. Great Big Idea, which normally produces online games, also produced a Turkish-themed game to promote the Bond film.

In Great Big Idea’s current promotion, participants are asked to appear in public areas carrying items such as CDs, scarves, and flowers. The events were presented as gamelike activities, and participants were not told that their involvement would ultimately be used to promote a pop album.

Some of these events have become the focus for anti-government demonstrations, though it is not known whether Great Big Idea intended this or whether agitators seized the opportunity to use gullible members of the public for their own purposes.

“I’m completely disillusioned,” said one participant, a college student giving her name only as “Neriman.” “I had been led to believe that the political dimension of these actions was sincere. To find that it was a cynical maneouver intended only to sell pop music is a great disappointment, to say the least.”

Great Big Idea has not commented, and in fact their company policy is never to confirm or deny participation in any media event.

The organization is headed by media mogul Dagmar Shaw, described as “a shadowy figure” who was investigated for a series of murders and terror bombings in Los Angeles three years ago.

Ararat is described on its own Web site as “a revolution in music.” The album is said to be inspired by Gordon’s experience in Turkey filming Stunrunner and features Turkish backing musicians.

UPDATE 0945. Mr. Gordon has not offered comment, but a spokesman reached early this morning seemed very surprised and said only, “That’s just pure loony tunes, ken?”

“Fuck me,” Dagmar said, as she followed the link to Gordon’s Web site. She had read the story on her handheld as Richard drove the party back to Akrotiri. Their guards followed in a Rover, and behind the guards was a Ford Transit that carried the guards’ communications gear, the stuff that actually worked under the influence of the High Zap.

Dagmar was staggered. The article had just enough truth to be believable, just enough power to send the movement she’d created rocking back on its heels.

If Bozbeyli had blamed the CIA for his troubles, it would only have been the sort of thing any dictator was expected to say. Few would have taken the complaints seriously, even if they were shown to be true. But blaming a Scots rock star at least had the advantage of novelty and would guarantee headlines in the tabloid and entertainment press.

If the U.S. government had been blamed, at least the U.S. would have been assumed to have acted for its own rational or political reasons. But bringing Gordon into it tainted the whole enterprise with celebrity and money-no one would want to risk their lives in a political action knowing that the whole point would be to sell records and make someone else famous.

And Dagmar had to admit that the timing was perfect. The story had broken when the Zap had isolated Dagmar in Akrotiri and when her people in California would be asleep. She had been unable to respond to any of the allegations, and any denial would never catch the original story.

The junta had restored the Internet to Ankara because the Zap was costing the local economy far too much money. And they’d restored it to Akrotiri because the damage was already done.

The road curved alongside the sea, a deep brooding azure. Cargo ships swung at anchor waiting for cargo, their waterline high above salt water. Far out to sea, Dagmar could see a patrol boat coasting in British territorial water.

“We’re being gamed,” she muttered.

“Sorry?” said Richard.

“I said,” she repeated, “that we’re being gamed.”

“Damn right we are!” Helmuth spoke up from the backseat.

Dagmar kept her eyes on the uneasy ocean. Her shock was beginning to fade.

She knew that there was only one thing to do when you were gamed by someone.

Game them back.

Jet noise was back, along with the Internet. The sound of turboprops thrashing air sounded through Lincoln’s office.

“I need to talk to Ian Attila Gordon,” Dagmar said.

Lincoln’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “You think I’ve got his number?” he said. “When I was working on Stunrunner, it’s not like I ever got to talk to the star-I only dealt with PR people.”

“Can you call any of them?” Dagmar asked.

“Yeah, sure. But I doubt they’ve got the star’s number, either. If we knew who represented him, we could get him through his management.”

Dagmar considered the problem.

“In that case,” she said, “I need to talk to Odis Strange.”

She had gone into conference in Lincoln’s office as soon as she had returned from her errand to Limassol. Richard and Helmuth had carried their spoil into the ops room to begin the business of putting together a DOS network.

Lincoln reached for his handheld.

“I’ve already had a conversation with Mr. Strange,” Lincoln said as he thumbed buttons. “He wants to fly his daughter’s body home, but the authorities are flying in a special pathologist from England, and he couldn’t come in because of the Zap. I think he’s upset-also, I think, high.”

“Judy said he was on the wagon,” Dagmar said.

“Maybe he was smart enough not to call her when he was out of his mind.” Dryly. “By the way, he kept asking awkward questions about what Judy was actually doing out here.”